


Fact

by cyprith



Series: Modern Magic AU [11]
Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 19:05:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1869030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyprith/pseuds/cyprith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fact: Maleficent wanted him.<br/>Fact: She couldn't afford to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fact

**Author's Note:**

> bemusedlybespectacled prompted: tit for tat

Somewhere shortly after 3am, Maleficent uncurled and came to a decision.

Such a simple solution, really. Elegant, even. While the problem had seemed insurmountable a few hours before, she’d been… emotionally compromised. Now, from a rational distance, the facts of their association dictated her course.

Fact: She was the CEO of Moor Inc, highest grossing Other-run company in the world, and #2 on Forbes’ Most Influential Women.

Fact: Entering into any personal relationship with a subordinate member of her staff constituted an abuse of power and possible sexual harassment. In another individual, such actions would be grounds for termination. Considering her position, it opened the door for legal action.

Fact: Aforementioned legal action and/or allegations of favoritism within her company would damage her reputation in the Wardsmithing and Personal Securities Industry, resulting in negative media coverage and a drop in MOOR stock prices.

Fact: A significant drop in MOOR stock prices would render her unable to compete in the marketplace in several areas, most notably quality of staff, quality of product, and research/development.

Fact: As long as Diaval remained on her payroll, he remained off limits.

Simple. No need to bring emotion into it.

As her mother had always said, one could not mix personal with professional and expect anything but pain and litigation. She’d ignored her advice once before and look what that had gotten her. A nasty scar and several reams of paperwork. Maleficent would not make that mistake a second time.

Opening her closet, she dressed for work in business black and Louboutins sharp enough to stab a man. An offhand glamor hid her dark circles, dusted her eyelids in gold. She applied the eyeliner herself, two sharp thorns with a steady hand.

That finished, Maleficent plucked her purse from where she’d tossed it haphazardly the night before, and made her way to work.

Not so much difference, after all, between six o’clock and four.

—

Fifteen after seven—Diaval’s start time, providing a small allowance for his usual coffee run—Maleficent heard the door to the outer office open.

For some time, she sat, hands folded and quiet, just listening to the little noises of another body navigating the day.

Outside, the closet creaked. Something fell out, accompanied by muffled swearing. The door clicked shut. Diaval crossed the floor, opened up his desk.

Steadying her breathing, Maleficent pushed the intercom button on her phone. “When you’re settled, I’d like a moment,” she said.

Before she’d even finished speaking, the door to her office opened. Smiling, Diaval stepped inside, ran his fingers through his hair. “I thought for sure I’d beat you here this morning,” he said, hefting his Tupperware like an offering, like a shield.

More baked goods. More treats. Another ball of nuts and chocolate to hold in her scarred hand.

Her stomach twisted, but Maleficent ignored it. Work to be done.

“Shut the door, please.”

Diaval frowned, but did as she asked. “Lef?”

Shoulders straight, hands loose, Maleficent breathed slowly through her nose. Long ago, her grandmother had faced armies like this. Her mother had changed the tide of a vicious war. Today, Maleficent met her assistant’s eyes and said, “I would like to apologize for last night.”

At her words, Diaval’s face fell. He shook his head. “There’s nothing—you don’t have to apologize. It happens.”

“Nevertheless. It was late. I should not have intruded—”

“I _invited_ you,” he insisted. And then, softer, “Lefi, what is this really about? What’s wrong?”

Distantly, she felt her heart clawing at the cage of her ribs, tasted copper, iron at the back of her throat. Still, Maleficent smiled.

“I have not treated you with the level of professional respect you deserve, Diaval. I apologize and I assure you, it will not happen again,” she said and sat back, her face pleasant, clean and neutral. “That will be all.”

Diaval stared at her as though she’d struck him. As though he could not breathe. And then, at last, he drew his shoulders taut. His eyes went hard, his jaw tense.

He walked forward until he reached her desk, close enough to touch her but for his hands, balled into restless fists. Quietly, Maleficent leaned back, but Diaval only stared, his lips pressed into a colorless line.

“Lemme tell you about my runes,” he said.

It was not the opening line Maleficent had expected. Still, bending down, Diaval tapped a long finger against the side of his head, the shapes painted there in red.

“This one’s _odal_. I wear it for my family,” he told her, his face so hard, carved in stone and agony. “Used to run in a gang. It was stupid but it brought in money. My mum, my sister—they worked their _asses_ off, but it was never enough. Someone was always sick or growing out of clothes—usually me. So I started boosting cars. I’m quick, clever. And nobody notices birds.”

Half bent over the desk, he stooped until he met her eyes and Maleficent could not drop her gaze. He smelled of chocolate, from this distance. Smelled like the bitter shells of walnuts, like something burning.

“It fed us,” he continued. “Kept the lights on. But it was terrible going and I just—just needed a breather, a glimmer of something that wasn’t blood or death or bill collectors. Started first on easy stuff. Magic beans or queen’s apples. Cheap, nothing too terrible. But troll dust makes you happy—well, _usually_ —and happy ran in terrible short supply. I got hooked, got stupid, got caught.”

In the hazy half-light of the city sunrise, Diaval’s tattoos stood stark like brands against his skin. Slowly, he lifted his hand and her eyes followed, tracing the sideways hourglass carved beneath the rest.

“I’m doing better. That’s this one, _dagaz_ , for balance. But also _raedo_ , here in the middle. For journeys. It’s terrible and it’s hard and I hate most of it, but I’m trying, so I wear it to remind me where I’m going.”

Somehow, he found her eyes again, smiled like it hurt. “And this one,” he said. “This one’s _why_ I’m going. This is the important one. _Pertho_ , for chance. I wear this one for you. Because if it weren’t for you, Lef, I’d be dead. I don’t know what the hell you saw in me on the street that day, but I thank the powers every morning that you did.”

For a long moment, neither spoke. Maleficent looked at him, feeling hollow in her bones. But she couldn’t— _couldn’t_ …

There was too much of him, somehow. She saw only parts. Feathers. The muscle jumping in his jaw. The uneven collar of his shirt. Licking her lips, a thousand miles away, Maleficent searched for words.

At last, she asked him, “Why are you telling me this?”

Diaval sighed. He stood, leaning back, away from her desk. Ran his fingers through his hair, already a mess. “Because you’re scared,” he said. “And—and I don’t know why. I don’t _need_ to know why. But I just want you to know, whatever it is you’re scared of, it’s not gonna come from me. I owe you my life, Maleficent. I will do _anything_ you need.”

Gently, so gently, he tried to smile. Mostly, he managed. “I look after you. I’m not good for much else, but I can do that.”

Scared? No. Maleficent didn’t feel scared. She didn’t feel anything.

And distantly, she knew she should. Another day—yesterday, last week—she’d have been moved. She’d have been happy, angry, sad, _something._ But today, Maleficent felt only empty, cold and competent, years and leagues away.

Still, her hands shook where she hid them in her lap.

“I was engaged once,” she said. “Stefan LeRoi. We grew up together.”

Diaval stopped. “Asshole politician LeRoi? He’s human, though?”

Hollow through and through, Maleficent shook her head. “It’s a spell. He always hated being one of us. Always wanted to be human. No minotaurs in politics, after all.”

Without meaning to, her eyes fell to her hands, to the band of scar tissue on her ring finger.

“I didn’t realize how… _badly_ he wanted,” she said. “When he proposed, the ring he gave me had a curse. He considered it a _gift._ A ring that would make me human. A ring would never, _could_ never come off.”

Across the desk, she saw Diaval’s lips move. Her name, she presumed, but she couldn’t hear him over the tide ringing in her ears, couldn’t stop, the words spilling out of her like a gut wound.  

“My wings disappeared. Gone, as though they’d never been. I demanded Stefan break the curse but he wouldn’t. Or he didn’t know how. He was so angry— _furious_ that I didn’t _appreciate_ his gift. When the ring wouldn’t come off, I panicked. I…”

Maleficent swallowed. At last, she said, “We had a new set of knives. Sharp. It took seven minutes to cut through the bone.”

In a rush of feathers, Diaval crossed the space between them. He turned her chair, knelt on the floor in front of her and took her hands. Maleficent felt him shaking—trembling like a leaf, like a dying sparrow in the dead of winter, whispering her name.

“I’ll kill him,” he breathed. “I will fucking kill him.”

Maleficent felt nothing. Once, she thought, she might have appreciated the sentiment. Today, she only shrugged.

“No. It’s over. Long since done.” She turned her hand, palm up to show him. “I carved the ring off. Reattached the finger. It’s a simple enough spell. But you understand? I’m not—I’m not keen to try again.”

Still, Diaval shook. He looked at her with wet eyes, as hollow as she felt. “I’m sorry.”

Sorry meant nothing. Another useless little word, so small in the face of a storm.

Absently, Maleficent rubbed her finger. It would come to her later, she knew. An avalanche in the dead of night, crushing agony when she least expected it. For the moment, however, her emptiness felt like a balm.

She regretted, though, that Diaval found knowing so painful. She’d only meant to share. Tit for tat, as they said—eyes for eyes in the way of war.

“It’s over,” she repeated and swallowed, brushing a stray speck of lint from her skirt. “I’m sorry if I upset you. I thought it’d help.”

Voice strained and tight, he asked, “Did it?”

“I don’t know.”

At last, Diaval stood. He wiped the back of his hand over his eyes, cleared his throat. “I’m gonna—gonna go earn my paychecks for awhile,” he said. “You need anything, though, I mean _anything…_ ”

Maleficent smiled, felt it like an echo in the hollow pit of her chest.

“I'll call you,” she lied.

And Diaval brightened.

At least one of them, she thought, would sleep tonight.


End file.
